


Subordination

by Beastmouth



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, M/M, blowjob, sexual degrading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beastmouth/pseuds/Beastmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaire’s cruel smile widened into a wicked grin, mocking Waylon’s small, meager presence on the chair in his office, in his asylum. He was a meager mortal standing before God in His domain; he had no power here, and Blaire had it all.</p>
<p>“Get on your knees, Park.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subordination

Waylon Park had no idea what to expect when he first arrived at Mount Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane. It was only a contract job, so he didn’t feel particularly worried about making connections – especially not with Murkoff’s less than upfront reputation. It was intimidating, walking through the lobby for the first time. Even if hardly anyone paid much attention to him besides the person in the front desk talking him through all the confidentiality precautions and registering him as a Murkoff employee with his own ID, it felt like the shadows themselves were watching him.

Mount Massive had a strange aura, and Waylon could never quite pinpoint if it was because of the presence of the inmates, or the employees themselves.

Through the course of his contract, he never really got used to it, and even less did he manage to settle among the scientists – particularly for the fact that none of them seemed to pay much mind to him. They knew his name, and what he was there for, but further than that everyone seemed far too engrossed in their work to care.

The occasional moment in the spotlight usually came in the form of Dr Andrew conveniently forgetting all about the concept of personal space, or a man being married to someone else, even. While Waylon usually tried to remain within some mindset of not judging people’s actions from just what he saw on the surface; Andrew was most definitely a creep.

Andrew was one of those people who simply wouldn’t take a hint, even if it smacked him across the face. He’d raved all about it to Lisa at first, but after the non-disclosure agreement he’d signed upon taking up the contract had become stricter, he could barely do even that. He hadn’t spoken to her about anything related to his work for two days.

Even if being called up to Executive Blaire’s office was nerve-wracking on its own, not being able to speak to his wife about made it seem all the more ominous, somehow. Probably because this meant very well that no matter what transpired in the office, whether it be cutting his pay or giving some friendly threats to his life, he wouldn’t be able to mention any of it to Lisa. Even worse was being called up out of the blue, without as much as a clue to what he’d done wrong (or right) in order for the execute to want to speak with him personally.

“How nice of you to drop by, Mr Park.” Blaire had mastered the tone of condescending politeness; it was so evident in his voice that this was something he’d done often, and thoroughly. It was just bland, meaningless pleasantries - it wasn’t like Waylon was given any choice in whether to show up or not; it was either that, or lose his job - and he needed the money. “I’ve wanted to speak with you for a while, now. Sit down.” He gestured towards the chair on the other side of his desk; opposite of him. Waylon glanced over at it, and hesitated just long enough for a twinge of a chill to enter his superior’s eyes before he took it.

“Good,” Blaire said, and Waylon couldn’t help but feel just slightly uncomfortable at the fact that he’d found it necessary to praise him for sitting down when asked to. No, not asked to, ordered to.

“How are you finding your job, Mr Park?”

“It’s..” Waylon began, searching through his mind for his most carefully plucked words. It wasn’t within his morality to outright lie, even in the face of a person like Blaire who wouldn’t hesitate to ruin your whole life if he saw fit.  “It’s alright; a bit overwhelming, but I’m getting used to it.” It was as close to honesty as he could get without risking his ass.

“Good to hear you’re settling, Park. However-”

Waylon’s throat went dry at the first syllable, and the small, gentle prod of dread that’d been sitting quiet but relentless in his gut mutated and grew into full anxiety. He didn’t even notice he’d begun fiddling with the hem of his shirt until Blaire’s eyes fell right on his hands as he paused dramatically - he probably only did so to make Waylon even more nervous.

“While your overall performance has been well within acceptable bounds, I’m still not so certain about your dedication.”

Waylon tried to keep his voice even when he replied, “What would you have me do, sir?”

Blaire paused again, leaning back in his leather seat and looking over the papers neatly stacked on his desk, as if they held some sort of significance to their conversation. He knew all the ways to make a person squirm, and Waylon truly could feel the heat while sitting in what could only be appropriately called the interrogation chair, at this point. He felt guilty without even doing anything particularly wrong. He’d only privately disagreed with the treatment of the patients, and it wasn’t as if anyone could read minds here…

Or could they? Wasn’t that their whole gig, though? Seeing into people’s minds.

“What I’d have you do? Oh, but there are several things you could do to convince me, Mr Park,” Blaire said, finally, and looked at Waylon again with an aloof expression. “Some complicated, some questionable, and some simple.” He was playing a game, here. A game of authority, and Waylon could never win at this game, not when he was this small. Next to Blaire, he was insignificant.

“What are.. What are the complicated ones?” Waylon dared ask, swallowing as if that would help settle his nerves.

“We’d have to involve your family, as a little aside, just to ensure you remain motivated until your contract expires. It’s nothing dangerous, don’t look so terrified. Call it means of persuasion.” Complicated, that’s what it was, and that’s why Blaire was so unclear with his description of it. Ignorance instills more fear than knowledge does, and Blaire used this his advantage.

Waylon didn’t even want to know what the questionable options were.

“Then what about simple?”

Blaire’s cruel smile widened into a wicked grin, mocking Waylon’s small, meager presence on the chair in his office, in his asylum. He was a meager mortal standing before God in His domain; he had no power here, and Blaire had it all.

“Get on your knees, Park.”

Waylon almost spluttered. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Or maybe he could, and he simply didn’t want to believe it.  It was simple, as Blaire had said, clear as crystal, and yet denial and the smallest chance that it was only meant metaphorically had Waylon asking for clarity.

“What?”

“I said get on your knees and suck my cock.”

“S-sir..?” There were no metaphors there, just an order to humiliate him in every filthy, intimate way possible. He wished he could say he was surprised. Blaire’s face dropped into a scowl and he raised his hand to beckon him closer.

Waylon wasn’t sure when he’d agreed to even do it, or if he’d just been agreed, but his head was in a sort of numb haze as his legs moved without his input. He stopped once he’d made his way around Blaire’s desk and stopped beside his chair. Blaire spun around on it so he was facing Waylon, and smiled again.

“Well? Put your mouth to good use for once, Park.”

Waylon didn’t know which was worse; looking into his eyes or looking at his crotch, which was more or less his given destination. He swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the feeling of nausea building in the back of his mouth - throwing up in the lap of his superior would probably end with him being put in the very machine he’d been hired to maintain.

You can do this, Waylon, he thought to himself. All you have to do is get on your knees… and suck the executive’s dick - what the fuck was he getting himself into? He never should’ve taken the job, shouldn’t have signed the contract. He could already tell Blaire wouldn’t satisfied until he’d ripped every last ounce of dignity Waylon had to shreds.

“On your knees, Park,” Blaire repeated, growling, obviously beginning to lose his patience at Waylon’s persistent stalling. Swallowing what little remained of his pride, Waylon slowly sank to his knees in defeat, his hands hanging limply at his sides. He glanced up at Blaire, uncertain. The man gestured at his fly, raising an eyebrow and giving a toothy grin.

“It’s not going to suck itself.”

That probably meant he wasn’t going to do anything to make it easier for Waylon to just get it over with. Feeling like they were tied down with lead, Waylon slowly raised his hands to unbutton Blaire’s pants and fumbled with the zipper as he pulled it down. He felt sick when his fingers slipped underneath the hem of his superior’s underwear, and he froze there, unable to bring himself further.

He could feel Blaire’s burning gaze on him, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tugged the underwear down. His breathing was shaky, and he was close to whimpering when his hand mechanically wrapped around Blaire’s shaft and freed his dick from the confines of his boxers.

He was half-hard - the sick fucker was already getting off on the abuse of authority alone. It was disgusting, and Waylon could feel his lips trembling as his mouth fell open ever so slightly. He knew Blaire was waiting, and he was enjoying every second of Waylon’s discomfort.

The satisfied noise Blaire let out when Waylon finally took him in his mouth made his gut wrench, and he shuddered at the sensation of flesh against his tongue. He felt filthy for doing this, for being made to do this. It was wrong in every sense of the word, and yet he had no choice.

“Open your eyes, Park. Look at me.”

Every single part of him screamed to get out, to run out of his office and get back home. He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to face the reality of the situation, and he certainly did not want to look Blaire in the eyes while his cock was hardening in his mouth.

When he didn’t move, he felt fingers wrapping into his hair and yanking his head back, more or less forcing him to look up. The whimpers he’d been holding in finally burst out at the sharp pain in his scalp, and he stared at Blaire with pleading, half-lidded eyes as if that would help his case, as if that would invoke any sympathy in the man.

It didn’t.

“I want you to look at me while you blow me, Park. I want you to know where your place is,” he said, fingers tightening in his hair, shoving him back onto his cock and forcing it deeper down his throat., making Waylon’s eyes water from the strain of trying not to gag. “I want you to look at me as you suck my cock like the desperate little corporate whore you are.”

Waylon could only let out a muffled noise of submission to show that he understood, blinking up at Blaire and wishing with all of his being that he’d come soon and be done with it. It most likely wouldn’t turn out that way, and he’d have to sit there on his knees, hands on Blaire’s thighs, and bobbing his head and holding back his nausea as best he could.

The taste of Blaire of in his mouth was revolting, and only because of who it was, not what it was.

“You’re sloppy, Park. Making a fucking mess on my dick; slobbering all over it. You should be fucking happy your programming isn’t this shitty.”

Waylon resisted the urge to bite him with a lot of difficulty, and just kept to tightening his lips around the shaft and sucking harder while wrapping his hand around the base. He’d need to wash his hands after this, thoroughly, and gurgle at least five litres of mouthwash.

Blaire let out a low grunt above him, and the fingers in his hair moved to the back of his head to push him further, hips bucking up slightly and pushing Blaire’s cock deeper into Waylon’s mouth. Deep enough for it to become difficult to breathe, and he had to strain himself not to start gagging. He could only consider himself lucky that he had fairly good control over his gag reflex. However, it didn’t stop the nasty choking noises from slipping out of his mouth as he tried to his best to keep up with his superior’s demands.

“That’s better,” Blaire groaned, his eyes half-lidded and mouth hanging slightly agape. Waylon hated the way his face was flushed from arousal, hated that he was actually getting off on this. Even if he was certain Blaire was slimy, this just put him on a whole other level of scum. His very own brand of corporate douchebag.

Since Blaire was more or less forcing Waylon to look at him, he had full view of when his eyes fluttered shut, the sharp, rapid rise and fall of his chest as he panted hard. Waylon felt his hips rolling and bucking into his mouth, and by this point he didn’t even have to move on his own. He just squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable, praying it’d be over soon. He felt Blaire’s muscles tighten under his hands, which were splayed over his hips in a feeble attempt to control the way Blaire was just thrusting his cock into his mouth.

Suddenly, Blaire let out a shuddering gasp, followed by a low groan, and finally came into Waylon’s mouth. He was off and away from Blaire’s cock in an instant, coughing and wiping the filth off his face with his sleeve. He glared at the floor, feeling used and disgusted, flinching at the sound of Blaire zipping his pants back up. And just like that it was over, but not before Blaire’s fingers gripped at his chin and tilted his head up.

“You’re a lot more tolerable to look at, with my cum smeared on your face,” Blaire said, grinning, before giving Waylon a shove. “Get up. You’re dismissed, Park.”

Waylon lost his balance and fell backwards, and remained on the floor for a bewildering few seconds before getting to his feet, dusting off his jeans as if that could get rid of the dirty feeling that wouldn’t let go of him.

Before the door shut behind him, Blaire called out one last mocking sentence to pummel him further into degradation;

“Keep up the good work, Mr Park.”


End file.
